


Lie Back and

by goseaward



Category: England Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goseaward/pseuds/goseaward
Summary: There was one kind of cover story that would be believed, even celebrated, in this house. And if he was right about Curtis, they might even make it plausible.Or, Daniel's point of view on certain events at Peakholme.
Relationships: Archie Curtis/Daniel da Silva
Comments: 13
Kudos: 81
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Lie Back and

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silveronthetree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveronthetree/gifts).



> My immense thanks to Vae for the swift beta read of this fic!

"Shit."

Daniel's swearing was considerably more voluminous, and considerably less external. For the briefest moment he considered whether Curtis had broken the connection on purpose—get his own evidence, then blame Daniel for anything that might be found—but he discarded the thought almost instantly. No subtle man could so convincingly playact a blunt instrument. There was probably some damnable emotion on Daniel's part in there, too, in discounting the possibility that Curtis had betrayed him; there had been the library, earlier, as well as their shared disgust at the contents of the cabinet. He had no time to think of that now. Hide the evidence, and then—

There was one kind of cover story that would be believed, even celebrated, in this house. And if he was right about Curtis, they might even make it plausible.

"Hide the dark lantern, behind those books on the shelf," Daniel said. "Quick, man."

"Shouldn't we run?"

"Don't argue." Daniel began disassembling the electrical rigging, then re-locking the door. None of this would work if it was found open. "And take off that pullover, just throw it over that chair." Curtis didn't move. "Now."

Curtis turned and Daniel deliberately didn't look: the lock was the first priority. He could hear footsteps approaching, but still far enough away, he thought. The lock turned smoothly under the picks, which he then dropped into his pocket. "Over here, quick."

Daniel's back was against the door before he let himself look at Curtis. Shirtless, the man was just as overwhelming as Daniel had suspected. Extraordinarily broad, all of it muscle, his stomach ridged not from the leanness of hunger but from the dense strength of his body, his chest covered in a thick layer of blond hair that under other circumstances Daniel might be tempted to rub his face in. Curtis approached quickly.

All that muscle had a purpose, though, so Daniel said, "Don't hit me."

"Wh—"

Daniel grabbed the dressing gown and pulled him into a kiss. 

Curtis didn't melt into it, or even kiss back. Daniel had wondered, especially after the poetry, if he would. Still, Daniel had to make this convincing. He'd been able to pull Curtis forward because Curtis hadn't been expecting it, but now he was resisting. Daniel kicked his ankle, the good one, and Curtis collapsed his weight onto Daniel just in time. The door to the library banged open, the electric light clicked on, and Daniel pushed Curtis away again. He felt cold even after the brief contact, once Curtis was gone.

There were three of them, and they had guns. Daniel loathed guns, and he loathed the odds. Curtis, bless him, was holding himself as if picking out which one he was going to take out with his bare hands. Thankfully, all the guns were aimed at him. This gave Daniel a little time to think. Wesley was there, which was useful, and he'd noticed Daniel, which was useful as well.

To Daniel's surprise, Curtis spoke, in a bark straight from the battlefield. "Put those guns down. Good work, but no need for it. Mr. Da Silva and I were just—" He looked over at Daniel and seemed to lose all his nerve. He blushed deeply and turned back to the guards.

Did he know just how guilty he looked? Embarrassment could be mistaken so easily. Useful, as Daniel was absolutely sure Curtis wouldn't be able to lie to save his life—and they were approaching that situation far more closely than Daniel, in general, preferred.

"Put those down," Curtis ordered again.

"Beg your pardon, gentlemen," one of the guards said. The muzzle of the gun dropped, and Daniel's heart rate dropped, too, with the evil black mouth of the thing pointed at the floor. "An alarm went off. Were you leaning on the door just now, at all, sir?"

"The door," Daniel said, putting on a satisfied smile, making sure to flick his glance at Wesley. "Ye-e-es, perhaps a trifle. That set the alarm off, did it?"

"Might have. If you was leaning very heavy-like. Sir."

"Or if someone else was—" Wesley began. His gun dropped as well, and Daniel felt like he could breathe again, but the third guard, the one with his gun still raised, made a warning noise, and all the guns came back up. Damn. "Sorry, Mr. March," Wesley said.

"Unfortunate accident," Curtis broke in blithely. "Sorry for any trouble." He sounded rather choked; Daniel hoped they took it for arousal. Hell, maybe it was.

"Sir. Excuse me." The man Wesley had called March strode towards Daniel, and Daniel shifted out of the way, to let him at the door. He seemed to know his business, and Daniel began to consider what he could say that would clue in Curtis to attack. They'd try to shoot him first, as the more physically dangerous man, but for the same reason Daniel needed Curtis to be in fighting shape as long as possible. But there was little he could say now without making things worse, at least until March had made his mind up. "It shouldn't have done that," March was saying, eyeing the contacts. He shoved the door. "Doesn't seem to be loose. Now, why would that have gone off?" He turned to look at Curtis again. "There's nobody else in here, is there, sir?"

The honorific was a positive sign. Yes, please, let them continue to think of Curtis as the upright gentlemen he actually was. "I'd suggest there's a generous sufficiency of people as it is," Daniel said, playing up the contrast between them. It didn't matter what they thought of him; if they thought of Curtis as trustworthy, then this was a matter of a red-blooded Englishman being serviced by any willing partner, and no matter how suspicious Daniel was, nothing untoward would have happened with Curtis there. Besides the obvious. "An excess, even, so I shall remove myself at once. I do beg your pardon for, ah, arousing you from your beds." He gave Wesley another look, flirtatiously. "And I shall return to mine. Or someone's, anyway." He smiled at Curtis, making his intentions obvious. "Come, my dear."

He wasn't sure it would work. But March said, "Wesley, Preston, make sure the gentlemen find their way." Well—that was better than nothing, in that they weren't being shot on the spot. Daniel continued to play up the louche act as he led Curtis up the stairs, forcing his spine to liquidity even as the frightening black pits at the ends of the guns followed them to their rooms. Those guns said they weren't in the clear yet.

Curtis turned on the light in his own room, and seemed surprised when Daniel followed him in. The surprise turned to shock when Daniel began to describe to him, in great detail, exactly the thoughts that had run through his head when the damned fool had set off the alarm. "I _know_ ," Curtis finally interrupted, in the same whisper Daniel had been using, bringing Daniel up short. "I'm a damned fool." Daniel's thoughts exactly. "I forgot all about the alarm. That was jolly quick thinking of yours, we'd have been sunk otherwise."

"We're not watertight yet. Listen."

Daniel could hear them in the service corridor, setting up the cameras. He was sure of it. He hadn't been looking forward to this part. Or rather, some part of him had, and he was trying not to let it out, because the absolute last thing he needed was to forget himself when they were acting to save their lives—especially since Curtis couldn't act.

"They've come to watch," Daniel said, in case Curtis hadn't caught on. "I'm not sure March believed me. You're too bloody soldierly. _Shit_."

"If it comes to a scrap, I've my Webley in the wardrobe. Are you armed?"

The thought of fighting his way out had not occurred to Daniel: once they were out of the library, all his intentions had been on avoiding the fight in the first place. It didn't seem likely to Daniel, but perhaps Curtis knew something he didn't. He had an edge on Daniel when it came to violence. It would be a last resort, but— "I don't use guns. You think you can fight our way out?"

"The odds aren't good." Damn. "But if it comes to that—"

"If it comes to that, we've lost. We might get away, but the evidence will be long gone." Curtis was watching him, alert, engaged, and Daniel thought of him in the library earlier, with the poetry; and again, later, ready to run into gunfire. As he'd thought, there was only one solution here, and he was going to miss that camaraderie when it was done. "Oh, hell. Get on the bed."

"What?"

Right. Daniel stepped into his space and used surprise, as he had before, to knock Curtis off balance and backwards. He dropped his dressing gown to the floor.

"What the devil are you doing?"

"Smile, we're being watched." Daniel knelt between Curtis's thighs—he was going to remember this, one way or another—and pushed Curtis's dressing gown off, too. With the folds of fabric gone, Daniel could see that Curtis was already aroused, which sent an inappropriate bolt of lust along Daniel's own body, combined with the warm, satisfied pleasure of being right about Curtis's interest. He shouldn't be enjoying something they didn't have a choice about, even to save their lives. "Just try to enjoy it, I'll do the work."

"Work? What—?"

"If they decide that we were faking, that you were at that bloody cabinet, we're probably dead." He playacted at kissing along Curtis's neck, till he was close enough to his ear to whisper even more quietly. "So we're going to make it convincing, understand? Or you can sit there like a sack of potatoes till they decide you _weren't_ poncing me in the library and come back with shotguns. Do you have any better ideas? Because I don't."

He desperately hoped Curtis did, but hope was not expectation. His hands had made it down to Curtis's waistband, and Curtis seemed entirely incapable of speaking. Oh, hell. He'd hoped it would be easier than this. "It's only a mouth. They're all the same. Come on, you did this at school, didn't you? Pretend you're back at Eton."

"You can't do this!" Curtis said, in a panic.

Daniel straightened as much as he could without leaving his knees, hoping he was blocking enough of the expression on Curtis's face to avoid problems from the staff. "What's your alternative?"

Curtis stared at him.

"Well?"

So minutely Daniel almost missed it, Curtis shook his head.

"Then lie back and think of England," Daniel said, and started to take his trousers down. Then the drawers, and—oh. What a magnificent prick. Daniel forgot himself for a moment and brushed his fingers over the broad, blood-dark head.

"Oh God," Curtis said.

Now they were getting somewhere. "Relax. I won't bite." He lowered his head and took Curtis's prick into his mouth. This would be a challenge, but the good kind, he thought, as long as he could focus on the weight and taste of it, and not on...everything else.

"I can't," Curtis said.

Daniel pulled off. The stiffness of the cock in front of him said otherwise; he just had to convince Curtis not to panic. "I'm doing the hard part. Just shut your eyes."

Oh, what he could do if he had time to lavish attention on him. But...he didn't. He went for the showy tricks, the kind that got men off fast, using his lips and tongue, and then braced himself and went all the way down. That felt— It was rather a lot to take, and he had a certain amount of pride that he managed it. But it also felt easy in a way it oughtn't. After a moment he realised it was because he felt sure Curtis wasn't going to try to choke him. That he'd treat Daniel like, well, a gentleman. Despite the fact that he was only allowing this as an alternative to being murdered.

He couldn't think about any of that now.

Then, with a shock, he felt Curtis's hands run through his hair. Not to push his head around. Almost like he liked the feel of it. Certainly not a thing Curtis's type usually did. It was...pleasant. Daniel leaned his head into it and moaned, a little, at the way it felt. He let his hands move on Curtis's hips, urging him to thrust, and Curtis did it as gently as Daniel had thought he would. There was nothing harsh about it, and nothing out of rhythm either—they were moving together as easily as if they'd done this dozens of times. Daniel was hard in his drawers, and knew he'd be unable to resist taking himself in hand as soon as he was back in his own room. This felt _good_. Curtis was to Daniel's physical tastes, which Daniel had of course known and expected to enjoy, but he hadn't expected this act to be so—not romantic, of course. So friendly.

"Going to come," Curtis said.

Daniel felt a mix of triumph and disappointment: that despite his qualms Curtis was going to come; that it was going to end. He pulled off, showily, and took him back down.

"Christ, da Silva, stop, I'll come in your mouth!"

Daniel urged him on, and he did. At the last he lost his politeness, held Daniel's head hard and shoved into him, but Daniel was ready for that, and took what Curtis gave him.

After, Curtis flopped back onto the bed, spent of more than his seed. Daniel poured himself a glass of water and used a few sips to cover himself as he regained his composure. He adjusted his trousers hopefully enough to hide just how hard he was and sat down next to Curtis on the bed. "All right?"

Curtis turned to look at him, and simply stared.

"You look like you're about to have a heart attack. I'm not sure whether I should find that flattering or the opposite." Light words, light banter. He couldn't give anything away.

Curtis blinked, and looked slightly less poleaxed than before—that brain turning back on, the way it did so intermittently. And then his eyes widened again with a different kind of panic. "Dear God. Don't you understand—they'll have bloody photographed that!"

Oh. Daniel felt a pang of disappointment that Curtis so easily went from an apparent state of shocked pleasure to—well. Such utter rejection. Nonsense, on Daniel's part; there was never any other possible ending. "No, will they? That was the _point_!"

"We could both be arrested!"

"Better than dead. Don't panic, for heaven's sake. We were playing cock in cover in the library, we had no idea they would photograph that interlude, therefore we don't know what they're up to, _therefore_ it was a false alarm. We're out of the woods, as long as you don't raise anyone's suspicions by having a conniption now." He smiled down wryly. "No need to thank me."

"And what if they use the photographs? Hand them to the police?"

Daniel was increasingly aware that he was going to lose his temper, very soon and very badly, if this line of inquiry kept up. Had the man truly not realised what was at stake? Ready to throw himself at some guns, not ready to endure a spot of blackmail until Daniel could put it right? "They're blackmailers, you idiot, they don't call the police. I have to get the films back, that's all. Calm down. This is trivial."

" _Trivial_? You might not care about being caught in some ghastly compromising situation—"

"I care less about that than about being caught with my hands in our host's till. Which, let me remind you, was what you brought on us when you blundered straight through that wire." He could really do with less protestation from the man. Daniel knew he was being something of a prick about this, but was a little gratitude so much to ask? After he'd put them both at such risk?

Was Daniel really so objectionable? Curtis hadn't seemed to mind, at least for a while.

"I know that, damn it!"

"Keep your voice down. And have you a better idea of how I could have deflected suspicion away from your stupidity, before you rant at me for sullying your inviolate body with my dirty ways?"

If he'd hoped Curtis would object to that characterisation, he'd have been disappointed. "Well, how the hell are we better off now?"

"We haven't been knocked on the head and buried under the redwoods?"

"I might as bloody well be! _You_ might be used to posing for filthy photographs—"

And...there went the last shreds of Daniel's temper. "Yes, poor you, it must have been awful. You're a martyr to your country. You underrate your skills at dissembling, though, I could have sworn you were able to endure the disgusting business without too much agony. After all, you came."

"You made me come!"

Daniel stared at him. Of all the bloody— What were they, squabbling toddlers? He rose. "Well, I beg your pardon for imposing myself on you. Next time you may pick your own locks, solve your own problems, and suck your own cock. Good night, Mr. Curtis."

He couldn't even slam the door. At least, he thought sourly as he let himself back into his own chamber, Curtis getting angry would fit right in with the Armstrongs' expectations of any encounter with Daniel. Daniel wasn't even hard any more, which was a real shame, as he could have used a good orgasm to help him sleep.

* * *

At least none of the guests would expect him to rise early. At last, after hours of waking at scrape and bump in the house, worried it was March or Wesley coming through the service corridor to take him off to that shallow grave under the redwoods, he put himself together as best he could and went to breakfast. Curtis was still there, unfortunately. He nodded to Daniel respectfully, which he'd never done before. His idea of "clandestine" was apparently "make it absolutely bloody clear to everyone that we fucked last night." Daniel still found Curtis's bluntness almost charming, damn it all, and sternly reminded himself about Curtis's terror at the thought of his name being connected to Daniel's.

As he sat, Lady Armstrong caught his attention. "I was just saying to everyone, Mr. Da Silva, if it clears up this afternoon, I propose a walk to the limestone caves. They're just a couple of miles away and so dramatic, I'm sure you'd be inspired."

"I must decline. I abominate the subterranean, and my editorial labours call me. Do enjoy your explorations."

She didn't seem put off by the refusal, though Daniel caught disgusted glances from some of the men. "In the meantime, do please resort to the games room. Cards, billiards, and perhaps, if the weather sets in badly, we could plan a round of charades?"

"Oh, wonderful! I adore charades," said the frothy Miss Carruth. She really had that character down to an exquisite degree of empty-headed pleasantry. Daniel was almost tempted to recruit her, except she seemed to be enjoying herself too much and he'd hate to burden her with the kind of things that he himself was up to at the moment.

Grayling, Holt, and Curtis made for the games room immediately breakfast was over. Daniel considered getting a start on the editing—it really did need to be done—but he wanted to see how Curtis would behave with the men, and intervene if necessary. He hadn't yet pointed it out to Curtis, but if James Armstrong was in on it, then Holt was; and if Lady Armstrong was, and Daniel wasn't quite as sure about that, although he had his suspicions, then Lambdon had to be as well. Curtis wouldn't be guarded enough, or even as guarded as he was capable of, and if at any point he figured out just how many people in this house might have participated in the crimes— No. Daniel could not leave him alone.

After some tedious wrangling about which of them would be forced to pair with Daniel—Curtis took the role without complaint, but he was, of course, so polite that this wasn't suspicious on its own—they began to play. 

Daniel wouldn't let him win. He had too much pride for that. And definitely not after the man's rejection the night before—not that Daniel should be thinking about it that way, since it had been entirely transactional on his part as well, after all. Shallow graves under the redwoods and all that. Well, in any case, in the name of keeping things friendly in the house, he would be good but not too good, and make sure to win while letting Curtis stretch himself a little. He had some fun potting a few of the balls, wondering if Curtis noticed just how he curled his fingers around the cue. Daniel was, at this point, certain that Curtis shared his taste for men, whether or not Curtis was willing to admit it to himself. If the events of last night hadn't convinced him, Curtis's eyes on him today surely did. Then Daniel bent fully over the table for a tricky shot. He knew it would show off his arse; he wondered how Curtis would take it.

Curtis's breath hitched.

Daniel was so surprised he missed the next shot. He'd meant to do two or three more before letting Curtis have his turn. But—that hadn't been displeasure. No, far from it. He took no pleasure in being right about Curtis. Wanted it, hated himself for it; Daniel knew the type.

"Blast. Your table, Curtis," he said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Curtis's break had been good, but the rest of the game didn't hold up to it, and even with his accidental slip Daniel still beat Curtis handily. He got far more pleasure from Curtis's naked appreciation than he did from winning.

_He turned you down_ , Daniel reminded himself. _He was disgusted to think anyone had seen us._

Holt was looking on, displeased. "Yes, well, very good. How are you against a fellow with two hands?"

"Still very good," Daniel said.

"Is that right. Would you care to put a wager on it?"

"No." A child could have seen _that_ trap.

"Not that confident?"

"On the contrary."

"I'll back da Silva, if we're placing wagers," Curtis said from behind him. "I don't think I've ever been so trounced." Daniel could have kicked him. They ought to be trying to seem more standoffish, not less: that's how any normal gentleman like Curtis would behave after being serviced like a man like Daniel. The, ahem, other interest was explicable. Standing up for Daniel's _honour_ was not.

"A quid says otherwise." Holt sneered at Daniel, which Daniel perforce ignored. "Not backing yourself? Of course, you people are careful with the pennies."

Ah, of course. It didn't require stepping into the trap for it to bite him. And there went his temper again. "Increase your stake, Curtis. I have your honour to uphold."

"I shouldn't," Grayling said. "Holt's awfully good."

"I can hold my own," Holt agreed.

"I dare say you have to."

"I'll make it a fiver," Curtis said, far too quickly on the heels of Daniel's words. Had he understood that? Rather against his will, Daniel felt those stirrings of—of _fondness_ again. He wasn't behaving like a man with regrets, or any of the disgust he'd appeared to show the night before.

With Curtis's money on the line, Daniel did absolutely nothing unsportsmanlike during the game. (Leaning with his most provocative posture could hardly be called unsportsmanlike, since it only bothered Holt to the extent that Holt was a bastard.) The rest of the men didn't like him anyway, and Daniel liked a clean win. It was so much more satisfying when they tried their hardest and you still left them in the dust, he'd found; if he couldn't command respect from the first, he took a great deal of pleasure in rubbing everyone's noses in their underestimation. Curtis was still watching him far more than was advisable, but Daniel found he minded it less, once he'd been reminded of just how awful the other men were. And Curtis would be leaving soon, in any case, and with him would go some of the only tolerable company at this party.

When on Earth had that become true?

At last the clock struck and Daniel let his little game play out. He was rather proud of it, for a bit of quick thinking after being insulted. "Was that the half-hour? Good heavens, time does fly in such charming company. I've _so_ much work to do, you know. The Muse demands sacrifice."

"You're not abandoning the game?" Holt said.

"Heavens, no, not at all. But I _can't_ dally any longer." Daniel thought he felt Curtis's eyes on him again as he leaned to the table—but then he had all of their attention as he cleared the balls without pausing. "There. All done. Don't 'forget' to pay Curtis, will you?"

He didn't look at anyone as he strolled out of the room. He knew for sure that Curtis watched him go.

* * *

Daniel watched Curtis traipse across the grounds from Peakholme to the folly. He'd been absolutely unmistakable from the moment Daniel could spot him: nobody else had that build, that hair. He was limping, but only slightly. If someone had asked Daniel before he met Curtis, he'd have said the injury would make the man less physically impressive, but in fact it didn't matter at all.

Curtis's body... He'd tried all day not to dwell on it, but it was increasingly hard to resist the memory. He had no right. They were deflecting suspicion, that was all. Best not let himself imagine it was anything else. It was harder now that he had Curtis's obvious appreciation of the billiards table to think of, in counterweight to his panic at the sex. Easier to remember just how much Curtis fit his tastes. Harder to remember how it had felt when Curtis had been so horrified to realise there were photographs.

Below, Curtis entered the folly. Daniel yelled down the stairs, "Up here. Bar the door." He leaned against the wall, affecting unconcern, trying to feel calculating and not foolish.

"It's quite warm in here. Solid construction," Curtis said.

Daniel had his overcoat still draped around him. It wasn't bloody warm enough for him, but then he supposed Curtis had enough muscle to act as a small furnace of his own. "One would hardly want a ruin to be inhospitable, would one? We should speak of last night."

"Yes," Curtis said, looking hunted.

"Blackmail and treason. We need to get our information to the proper authorities without anyone here twigging what we're up to, and we need to remove any evidence of last night's efforts at alleviating suspicion."

Curtis drew in on himself. "Yes."

"Like you, I accepted an invitation for a fortnight. I'd rather not wait that long before raising the alarm. Either of us might give our knowledge away at any time."

"You mean that I might, I suppose."

Daniel shrugged, grateful that Curtis's panic had receded enough that his good sense was engaged; he didn't want a repeat of last night's performance. In very many senses, if, to his detriment, not all of them. "However, I'm not sure how we go about calling for help. The house telephone goes through an exchange located here, via an operator, who is a servant of the Armstrongs and Peakholme."

"They'll listen in, you think?"

"I'm quite sure they will. It _might_ be all right to send a telegram or a letter, but I wouldn't put it past them to open their guests' post, and I am sure that they'd open yours and mine, in the hope of written admissions, or even other names to pursue."

"I expect they might. Well then, one or the other of us will have to cut our visit short."

"It's the best option. It would be terribly rude to our hosts, of course."

"I'm sure you could manage that," Curtis said. He sounded fond, and Daniel hurried on.

"Doubtless." Daniel paused. "Not to embarrass you, but we should address the question of any compromising photographs that may have been taken last night. I think we have to assume they were taken."

Curtis nodded.

"The problem is not just finding the films, and any photographs made from them. It's that removing them makes it obvious that we know what the Armstrongs are up to. Then either they will have to deal with us, or they will destroy the evidence in that cabinet, or both. It is warm, isn't it," Daniel said, laying down his overcoat. Perhaps Curtis was not just a heater for himself, but for the whole room. "What I would prefer is to take the evidence of all the illegal activity, ours and theirs, and depart without ceremony. Did you motor here?"

"Can't. My hand. I can't grip the wheel." Ah, of course. Daniel should have realised. "Can you drive?" Curtis asked.

"No. We could, I suppose, walk, but I don't imagine you like the idea of a thirty-mile tramp across rough terrain in this weather any more than I do, and Armstrong's men will doubtless move faster and know the country better."

"The ground's too open for that, if you're worried about pursuit. Very little cover, long lines of sight. Have you any experience with stalking?"

"God, no. I don't hunt." It was surprisingly pleasant to be discussing this kind of business with Curtis. Daniel normally hated partners of any kind, but Curtis proved surprisingly sensible when he was paying attention, and he knew things Daniel didn't know and could explain them clearly, which was helpful. "Very well, we've no means of a quick exit. I think, then, you should return to London for a chat with your Uncle Maurice. This is his sort of business. Warn me by telegram—I'll give you some innocuous wording to use—and I will remove those pictures before the troops get here."

"Why don't you go to London and I'll stay?" Curtis asked obstinately.

"You can't pick locks."

"You can't deal with the alarm."

Daniel said, "I watched you. It was hardly a complicated process. You could teach me."

Now Curtis looked exasperated instead of oppressed. Or...something worse than exasperated? Daniel needed to remember Curtis's panic of last night, not anything else. "I think the risk of attack from the Armstrongs is far greater for you than for me," Curtis said.

If Curtis felt he needed to one-up Daniel, to get his manhood back after Daniel had undone him so thoroughly, then Daniel needed to give him something without allowing him to stay. It would be trickier than he liked. He was a good manipulator, but not a good diplomat: he could get his way, but not by flattery. At least, not for Curtis, who despite his own bluntness seemed to catch every double meaning Daniel threw his way. Perhaps the truth would work. "I wouldn't be so sure. I think you may underestimate the ruthlessness at play here, and if you'll forgive the plain speaking, you are not well equipped to deal with that."

"I can look after myself," Curtis said huffily, "and a damned sight better than some prancing pansy." And there it was. " _You_ take this information out. Talking's what you're good at."

In fact, fuck diplomacy. "Oh dear God, the British soldier, heroically setting his jaw against overwhelming odds. You don't have a Gatling gun here." Daniel's own anger from last night was back in full force. _Prancing pansy_ , the sheer bloody nerve.

"I'm not afraid of the bloody Armstrongs."

"This is not about fighting. This is about evidence, and how we transfer it from them to us, so that at the end of this farrago, they are arrested and we are not. If the Armstrongs destroy everything in that cabinet before the authorities see it, we'll have failed. If they use those damned photographs against us, you'll be looking at a scandal at best, two years hard at worst."

"And if the Armstrongs or those men of theirs catch you sneaking around? What about that shallow grave under the redwoods?"

That was a good question, but Daniel tried to picture Curtis avoiding the same fate. Both his chances of success and the consequences to Daniel of his failure said Daniel's risk was better than the alternative. "I shall attempt to avoid that. This isn't worth the argument. Just go to London and leave the rest to me."

"The devil I will." Curtis stepped towards Daniel, visibly angry, and Daniel had to brace himself not to flinch. He could handle high tempers, but if this turned physical, it was a different matter. "If you think I'm coward enough to hide behind your skirts—"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I will not protect my honour at the risk of another man's life. That is not what honour means. Do you understand that?" He took another step towards Daniel.

Daniel felt his temper like an old, familiar friend, useful in times of need. "In fact, despite being a mere dago, I understand very well what honour means. I forced you into that encounter last night. I'll deal with the consequences."

"I'm not a bloody woman and I don't need your bloody protection from a compromising situation, like some tart in a melodrama! Who the hell do you think you are to give me orders?"

And, indeed, the rejection of the night before was proved out, and the pleasure of the billiards shown to be an illusion. Daniel felt very weary, and fell back on contempt. "Dear sweet heaven. This is not the moment to reclaim your masculinity."

That brought Curtis right up against him, worryingly. " _What?_ "

"I'm sorry I infringed your manliness last night. I apologise for sucking your cock. I realise you would prefer to act the noble hero after such an unmanning experience, but _I_ am more concerned with getting the Armstrongs to the gallows without either of us suffering in the process. Understood? I _apologise_. I abase myself, I grovel, is that what you need to hear? Would it help if I fell to my knees?"

Curtis's response was unmistakable. Daniel had been right about that, too: anger at his own attraction. He really oughtn't second-guess himself.

"Ah," Daniel said. "Is that it? If I went to my knees, is that what you want?"

Undoubtedly, it was.

Daniel stepped up and into Curtis's space; two could play that game. "Conditions, Curtis. If I do this, it is because you want it. You ask me for it. You do not accuse me of forcing anything on you against your will." Curtis reacted to that; Daniel was too close, in too many ways, to interpret it. "I mean it. If it would salve your bruised manliness to have your cock sucked, then say so. Tell me what you want."

"I want..." Curtis took a breath. "I want you to do it."

"Do _what_?"

"On your knees."

That voice, in that tone, made his knees want to bend then and there. _Don't second-guess yourself,_ he thought again. _This isn't anything more than a chance to take his feelings out on me._ He dropped a handkerchief on the floor to save his trousers and knelt. He knew Curtis was watching him, and couldn't stand to look up: he was not too proud to admit he was afraid what he'd see if he did. He pulled Curtis's cock out. It was still a magnificent specimen. If only it was attached to...someone else. Someone Daniel wanted to like less, someone Daniel could trust to treat him well, in more ways than the physical.

"What do you want? Do you want to come in my mouth?" Daniel asked.

"Oh God, yes. Please."

"Courtesy is always welcome," Daniel said, unable to resist it, and leaned forward. There was no need for anything fancy here, he thought. Curtis already looked ready to burst. It would have been gratifying, except for the whole entire situation. He reached for Curtis's arse, intending to move him into thrusting for his own pleasure, and then took the opportunity for a swift caress instead, the muscles there firm and satisfying under his fingers. Curtis seemed to like it, judging by the volume and tenor of the noises he was making, so Archie slid a hand into his drawers and back.

"No," Curtis said.

Daniel stopped immediately. "I beg your pardon. Why don't you fuck my mouth, then." He put his head back down, around Curtis's cock, and Curtis fucked right in, as deeply as Daniel had gone the night before or perhaps deeper. Daniel was lucky he'd had the practice or it might have involved significant discomfort. Curtis groaned deeply above him and Daniel knew he was making noises of his own, but he didn't let himself think about it: no point in enjoying this, even a little. He felt Curtis's hands thread through his hair and it gave him a shock of remembered pleasure.

At least Curtis was enjoying it this time, taking the lead. No blaming Daniel now.

Curtis came shockingly fast; again, in other circumstances, Daniel might have felt it as a compliment. Instead, he was simply relieved. He hadn't betrayed anything of his own confused interest, and Curtis would be satisfied. Daniel sat back and found he couldn't look up. There was nothing new here. No reason for him to feel so...disappointed.

"Da Silva? What about you?"

The question was intrusive, unwelcome. "What about me?"

"Why did you do that?"

Was the man going to blame him again, despite his obvious desire for it and the obvious pleasure he'd taken in it? " _You_ did it. Don't pretend that was all me."

"That's not what I meant. I meant—are you all right?"

That was unexpected. Daniel looked up. Curtis looked concerned, and it lit Daniel's temper again. How _dare_ he be concerned, after _that_. "Absolutely. Marvellous. There is _nothing_ I like more than a good fuck with someone who despises me."

"What?" Curtis asked, looking genuinely puzzled, in the manner of a dog that has just shredded its master's favourite slippers and doesn't understand why he is angry. It made Daniel, if anything, even angrier himself, that he could be so callous and then act as if he hadn't. "I don't despise you."

"Don't you." Daniel needed to be on the same height as him again, or as close to it as he got. He was no one's servant. He stood and looked Curtis in the eye.

"I don't. That's nonsense."

"You called me a prancing pansy shortly before you shoved your cock in my mouth." Daniel rubbed his jaw, showily. "You should be careful with that thing, you could do damage."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Daniel almost swore, but he felt it wouldn't help matters. "No. It scarcely matters." He reached for his coat; they had nothing more to discuss.

"Of course it matters. Wait, for God's sake." Curtis grabbed his arm. " _Wait_. Please. That was damned rude of me. I apologise. I—well, I resent not being the man I was."

"I gathered as much. Did we not just try to alleviate that?"

"I didn't mean that. Look, you're clearly a brave man, and you've put yourself in considerable danger to catch up with a blackmailer. But I've been in far worse situations than this, and I'm still better equipped to deal with devilry than you." The man had just come down Daniel's throat, could he not give up this ridiculous hurt pride masquerading as chivalry for even a moment? "The plain fact is, I'm a soldier, and you're a—"

"Queer?"

"Poet."

Daniel blinked.

"And that means _I_ will take the physical risks here. I am not leaving you to face danger while I scurry off back to London. I don't appreciate the suggestion that I'm incapable, and I can't say I liked your manner of expressing yourself earlier. But I shouldn't have been so offensive in return, and I beg your pardon."

It required a moment for Daniel to process this. He was not angry about—

Before he had fully taken it in, Curtis barrelled on, "And I wish you'd tell me if I've done something wrong with—" and then gestured between them. "I may not have behaved as one should in these matters. I don't quite understand this sort of thing."

Daniel thought about this a few moments longer, and then said, "No. You don't, and apparently, nor do I."

"I beg your pardon?" Curtis said.

"Just let me be sure I have this right. _That_ was what you were angry about? Being edged out of the action? I gathered that your pride was at stake—"

"I'm half-crippled," Curtis broke in. "I don't need reminding of that. I don't find it easy to live with, and I don't like reminders that I'm less than I was."

"Well, God knows what you used to be, then, because you're built like a brick shithouse and hung like a horse." Curtis gaped at him, and Daniel felt the edges of a smile on his own face. "But far be it from me to comment. Just tell me, are you, or were you, angry with me because I forced myself on you last night?"

The puzzled expression was back on his face, but this time, it was a sheer relief. "No."

"Ri-i-ight," Daniel said slowly.

"No. Well, if I was angry, why would I have wanted you to do it again? It was, er, very decent of you." He actually blushed even mentioning it. Daniel was distantly grateful he hadn't been so bashful when he was shoving his prick down Daniel's throat.

"Mmm. You're actually quite a straightforward sort of fellow, aren't you? I assumed—well, more fool me. I see. I do, in fact, see." He hadn't marshaled arguments for a man who wanted to run _into_ danger, although, in retrospect, given Curtis's behaviour when faced with guns, he really ought to have done.

"See what?"

"What's in front of my face. With all that entails." Daniel made a quick calculation and decided to go with the truth. "Well. To begin with, I had no intention of questioning your physical abilities. I'm in no position to do that, and more to the point, I doubt violence will be useful here. Deception is what's required, and that's my area, not yours, which brings me to my second point. Quite frankly, not to beat about the bush, the reason I feel more qualified to handle this business than you—ah, this is embarrassing. I wasn't planning to tell you this."

"Tell me what?" Curtis said, a responsive audience as always.

"Well, the thing is, when I implied—or said, really—that I was carrying out an amateur investigation, that wasn't quite accurate. I'm here professionally."

"Professionally? To do what, write sonnets?"

"No, my other profession. I work for the Foreign Office Private Bureau. For your Uncle Maurice, in fact. As one of his, er, special recruits."

Curtis was an absolute picture of confusion, which sat ill on his blunt, straightforward, handsome features. "You work for the Private Bureau?"

"As I said."

"You're a secret agent?"

"I loathe that term. It's so violent, somehow."

" _You_?"

It was amazing, really, how fast his bad mood could evaporate when Curtis turned the charm back on. Daniel was really far too susceptible to him. "I suppose I should find your incredulity flattering. It would be lowering to learn I looked like a tool of the State."

Curtis frowned. "But— Why didn't you say?"

" _Secret_ agent. Secret."

Curtis looked abruptly horrified and froze without speaking. After a moment of his own confusion, Daniel said, "Are you all right? Curtis?"

"Oh dear God," Curtis said, utterly apologetic. "I'm so sorry. Christ. I—I can't apologise enough."

"For...?"

"You must think I need horsewhipping."

As reactions to revealing his secret identity went, abject groveling was far outside Daniel's expectations. To be fair, he'd never revealed his secret identity before, since in general everyone who needed to know already did, but he'd expected something a little more...flattering, like appreciative astonishment, or overwhelming lust. "I really don't think that's what you need. What are you agonising about?"

"Good God, man, I just made you—" Curtis gestured at the floor; judging by this conversation, he had no words for the sexual act. "That. _I_ made you. It was all my fault. I'm so sorry."

This was slightly more explicable, although it also gave Daniel the challenge of not bursting into laughter at the misunderstanding. "Is this flood of remorse because you've concluded I'm a government agent masquerading as a shameless invert?"

Curtis visibly steeled himself and then looked Daniel in the eyes. "I can only apologise. I had no idea."

"Dear fellow, you've missed it by a mile." Daniel reached out and patted his arm, in sudden good cheer. "I'm a government agent _and_ a shameless invert. Which is not to say I'll suck you off on demand, but if you think you've been ravaging my virgin mouth, you're about fifteen years and quite a lot of pricks too late."

"Oh, thank God," Curtis said, obviously relieved, and Daniel lost his war against laughter and doubled over. "It's not bloody funny!" Curtis huffed.

"Yes, it is." He looked up at Curtis, hoping he'd join him in the hilarity, but Curtis folded himself onto the floor and put his head in his hands.

"Come on, it's not that bad," Daniel said as consolingly as he could. Curtis didn't reply. "Curtis?" Another pause without response. Daniel was losing track of when he did and didn't think Curtis was a self-hating queer, but this reaction didn't bode well. "It _is_ that bad. I see. Ah, if you're thinking of assaulting me, for God's sake _not_ the face, but can I just point out that we still need to work together—"

"What are you babbling about?" Curtis said, which was hardly fair when he hardly spoke a word himself.

"I'm hoping you're not planning to hit me."

Curtis looked up at that, absolutely outraged. "Of course I'm not!"

"Delighted to hear it." Daniel crouched down next to him—it was bloody awkward looking at the man from above. "I abhor violence, particularly when it's directed at me."

"Why on earth would I do any such thing?"

"Oh, well. Some men appear to feel that it's less queer to have a chap suck one's cock if one abuses him afterwards."

"Well, I don't. Hit chaps for doing that, I mean. Not that it comes up, of course— What I mean is, obviously it _doesn't_ make one queer, having a fellow do that for one. I'm not your sort."

"Of course not," Daniel said, syrupy and sympathetic.

"Well, I'm not. I just—that was... It's not the same thing, is it?"

"Nothing like it."

"That's not the point, anyway. The point is, that business just now was my fault, so I am certainly not going to blame you for it."

Given a decade, Daniel thought, he might begin to understand which of the ordinary things bothered Curtis and which of the extraordinary ones he took in stride. He checked his pocket watch. "I appreciate the sentiment, but fault doesn't come into it. We should be getting back to the house, it'll be luncheon soon. Will you listen to me a moment?"

"I seem to do nothing but listen to you. You could jaw the hind leg off a donkey."

There was that treacherous fondness again. Daniel ignored it. "A beast to which you bear a striking resemblance, in more than one way. Firstly, I will retrieve these photographs, because I am better placed to do it than you. Secondly, I hope you won't indulge in any regrets over this encounter. Chalk it up to a misunderstanding, a sleepless night and a dramatic situation. Consider it forgotten." He left a brief pause, hating himself, but Curtis didn't fill it. "Thirdly, and this is the important one: dead men. Dead men under the sun of Jacobsdal or floating down the Thames at night. Dead and smashed in the seas off Beachy Head, or in lonely rooms with a gun falling from their hands, or in the next war because of the secrets that have been sold. The Armstrongs have left a trail of blood for their own enrichment, and I intend to bring them to justice. And I am quite sure that you will stand with me to do it, whatever else happens, because if you are a man to put personal concerns before duty, then I have lost my judgment."

Curtis looked struck by those words, more than by anything else Daniel had said to him all afternoon. "I beg your pardon, da Silva. You won't need to remind me again.

Daniel stood and helped Curtis to his feet, not that the man needed it overmuch. His hand felt very strong and capable in Daniel's. "Very well," he said. "I'll slip out first, give me five minutes before you leave. I'll come up with a reason for you to return to London, and a means for you to let me know when assistance is on the way. Keep your head, keep your countenance. No heroics. Getting the information to Vaizey is what matters."

"Understood. Just let me know what's needed. Otherwise, er—what's that thing of that chap about service?"

"'They also serve who only stand and wait'?" Daniel quoted, before experiencing a moment of annoyance at himself that he'd actually understood the question.

"Yes. I always rather struggle with that."

"Do you? It sounds like my ideal job." Daniel smiled at Curtis and, before he could feel any more positive about the man, left the folly.

He set off back to Peakholme. Things were dire indeed. As yet he had worked out no possible way to call for backup or to get Curtis out of the house. They were thirty miles from the railway station, and the people around here would be loyal to the Armstrongs, even once off the grounds of the estate. Curtis was likely to engage in some horribly brave and horribly destructive action at any time. Daniel didn't believe for one moment that the Armstrongs didn't have suspicions about Curtis and Daniel, even with the photographs in hand—he'd bet they'd put the servants on developing those films first thing this morning, if not the night before. He had to get Curtis out, he had to destroy the images concerning himself and secure the rest of the material in the cabinet, and he had to do both of those things without getting either himself or Curtis killed.

He had no reason at all to feel buoyed that he would be getting through all that with Curtis working alongside him. And so, Daniel told himself resolutely as he walked through the door to the house, he wasn't feeling happy about it in any way, and that wasn't a smile he saw on his own face when he caught a glance at himself in a mirror. It would be entirely unreasonable, _if_ that was how he felt.


End file.
